


Their Doctor

by a_nonny_moose



Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 12:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12254082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: A rare-pair, requested by Anonymous. Anti and Dark wear their get-along shirt.





	Their Doctor

“I don’t understand why we have to wear this.”  


Anti wiggled as the Doctor pulled the shirt over his head, scowling. “This is because you two are fighting,” Dr. Iplier said, straightening the collar. “And I can’t have my boyfriends _fighting_.”

Dark blushed a little, both at Anti’s proximity and at the Doctor glowering at him, almost hungry. The second this shirt was off, he–

Anti giggled a little, poking Dark in the side with his free hand. “’Ey! This isn’t so bad!”

Dark growled, pulling away. Well, as far ‘away’ as he could, being trapped in the same shirt as Anti. “Stop that.”

“Aww, ya like me, dontchya, Darky?” Anti poked him in the ribs again, and Dark squirmed.   


“ _Stop_ , both of you,” Dr. Iplier said, looking at his handiwork with satisfaction. “Neither of you are getting out until you apologize.”

“Really, Doctor, is this necessar–”  


“But I hafta peeeeeeeeeeeee!”  


Dark glared at Anti, nearly nose-to-nose. “No, you don’t.”

“I doooooooooooo,” Anti whined, jumping from foot to foot, pulling at Dark every time he moved. “Come with me, Dark.”  


“Not on your life.”  


“It’s not as if there’s anythin’ down there tha’ ya haven’t–”  


“Enough,” Dr. Iplier cut him off. Dark fuming, Anti cackling. He folded his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Make up, boys.”  


“He already _has_ makeup,” Anti giggled, nudging Dark.   


“At least _I_  know when to shut up,” Dark shot back, threatening.   


“Yeah?” Anti turned to face Dark as best he could while wearing the same shirt as him. “Well, at least m’ not still in me emo phase!”  


“You’re one to talk, with your ripped jeans and stupid laugh.”  


“It’s not stupid!”  


“It seems like _you_  certainly are.”  


“Doc,” Anti said, eyes flashing green and black, “lemme punch ‘im. Just the once. Righ’ in the jaw.”  


Dr. Iplier took a step closer, pouting. “Anti, if you punch him, I’ll have no one left to kiss.”

Anti’s breath caught in his throat. “Ya can still kiss _me_ , Doc,” he said, turning to wink at him. 

Dark growled, hanging his head. “All right,” he muttered, shooting a glance at the Doctor. “Sorry I called you a green glitch freak with no one to love and a tiny d–”

“Dark!” Dr. Iplier tapped his foot, annoyed. “Please.” The _for me?_  went unspoken.

Dark huffed. “Sorry.”

Anti shuffled uncomfortably. “M’ sorry too. Yer not a hateful makeup-wearing demon.”

Dark’s expression softened for a second, looking over at Anti. 

Anti glanced up to catch his eye, an unguarded moment. They were so close, and so warm wrapped in the giant shirt. 

“Yer a _delightful_  makeup-wearing demon,” Anti said, laughing softly, his breath warm against Dark’s cold skin. “And yer one of mine.”  


Dark shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, only half-mocking. More amused, softer than Anti had ever seen him. His lips curved up, parted to give way to glistening fangs. “You’re mine, glitch.”

And suddenly, it wasn’t threatening anymore. Anti leaned forward, feeling Dark’s heart quicken. “Demon,” he smirked. 

And Anti could’ve sworn that he had more of a cunning retort, but Dark cut him off with cool lips against his, a hand almost cold against the curve of his jaw. Anti staggered back, surprised, but found his footing in time to wrap his arms, warm, around Dark’s waist. Still entangled in the Get-Along shirt, they pressed into each other, a deep, lingering kiss. 

Dr. Iplier stood back, satisfied, until they pulled apart, Anti gasping, Dark almost smug. 

“Thank you,” he said, stepping in to pull the shirt off of them, practiced movements, impersonal hands.   


Dark froze the Doctor’s hands with a grip like ice on his wrist. “Doctor,” he said, glancing down at him, then Anti, a light smile on his face. “My dear, Doctor. Would you care to join us?”

Anti didn’t wait for a response, folding Dr. Iplier into a violent hug with his free arm. Dark, after a beat, brought his own arm up to hold both of them close to his chest. 

His glitch.

His Doctor. 

_Their_  Doctor.


End file.
